


spiralling

by lara_mccann



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Mentions of alcohol, Multi, Possibly Triggering, blair is a good girlfriend, chuck bass needs a hug, chuck is messed up, hurt chuck, mentions of drug use, sad chuck, self-destructive chuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lara_mccann/pseuds/lara_mccann
Summary: chuck bass drowns his sorrows in vodka and whiskey. he swallows pure euphoria so he can cope with the weight of his fathers crushing disappointment. he pushes everyone away, scalding them with the ice cold words he spits at them.he is losing control.he is going to die.but strangely, the knowledge of that makes him feel more alive than anything else ever could.





	1. reputation

Chuck Bass was one of those burnout teenagers that everyone knew and everyone wanted to befriend.  
Infamous and scandalous, he was the type that burned short and burned bright.  
Always up for a quickie with a prostitute, he could always be found drinking himself into a stupor at the nearest club, surrounded by beautiful women in various states of undress.  
He was a womanizer and a borderline alcoholic. He was cold and ruthless. An empty space where a heart should be.  
His friends were made through under the table deals and money switching hands.  
His enemies were made in a similar way.  
Chuck Bass dealt in secrets, and it was common knowledge that if you had something worth keeping hidden, he'd coax it out of you with a charming persona and a few shots of vodka.  
He didn't care about anyone except himself.  
He slept around, luring girls and boys alike into his bed, entrapping them with toxic promises whispered into heated skin, and then left them in the morning, cold and alone.  
He was not someone you wanted to come into contact with, whether as a friend or an enemy, because he treated them the same.  
To him, everyone was someone to be exploited for his own sick pleasure.  
He got off on it, on the humiliation of a pretty face, on the flushing of shame on a socialites cheeks as he brought their secrets into the public eye.  
He'd draw away into the shadows and watch them from afar, relish in their shame as they crumbled under society's derision and disgust, and then, when he found them in the streets a few weeks later, drunk and destitute, he'd have his fun with them for a couple of dollars, let them relive their glory days in a haze of sex and expensive cocaine.  
And then he'd leave them on the side of the road with nothing but quickly fading memories to accompany them on their rapid fall from grace.  
He took pleasure in making the most successful and beautiful people crash and burn in a way that shocked even those closest to him.  
He loved to break people, watch them as they splintered under his soft touches that hid an anger so explosive that it scared even those most enamoured by his clever fingers and pretty lies.  
Chuck was one of those people you were entranced with and disgusted by at the same time.  
He evoked powerful emotions in everyone he met.  
He revelled in stoking the flames of simmering fires in the bodies of stars that were just beginning to shine.  
He forced them to explode into shards of shining light, magnificent and interesting and over far too quickly.  
He took people with potential and bled their passion dry.  
He knew exactly how to make a spark glow so brightly that it suffocated itself.  
He made sure that none of his victims ever made it in the Upper East Side.  
He defended his throne ruthlessly, and anyone who showed even the slightest bit of defiance, of rebellion, was mercilessly crushed with public humiliation and the revelation of a dark secret they couldn’t even remember sharing.  
Chuck was one of those people who would throw a party, make you feel special, get you high on expensive drugs you couldn’t hope to name, make you feel like fucking royalty for a short, sharp second that left you desperate for more.  
He’d give you a taste of the fast life, a taste of sparkling champagne and the rush of ecstasy in your veins, and then he’d drop you off outside your cold and empty home, leaving you with nothing but the memory of the flashing lights and hands on your thighs and whispered words in your ear that made you feel like you were everything to him.  
He’d wreck you and ruin you and all the while you’d think he was doing this for you. He’d let you catch a glimpse of the life you could never hope to have, and then slam the door in your face and let withdrawal have its way with you.  
Maybe, if you were a particularly pretty face, he’d come and visit you in your dilapidated apartment as your body shook with tremors, empty syringes scattered across the filthy wood floor.  
He’d bend down and brush his lips over your burning forehead. He’d lay a hand on your trembling thighs and sigh.  
And then he’d leave, and you’d never see him again and you'd spend the rest of your life chasing a memory, a feeling, the rush of euphoria and adrenaline and the addictive feeling of being alive.  
You’d never find it again.  
And you would know that somewhere, Chuck Bass was laughing, drinking whiskey in an exclusive nightclub with another spark just like you on his lap.  
His reputation preceded him.


	2. blair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chuck loves blair. he simply cannot articulate his feelings.

Chuck Bass has never loved anyone like he loves Blair Waldorf. 

And that scares him more than anything else ever could.

Blair is the type of girl that subtly, quietly and elegantly worms her way into your heart and breathes life into the dead, rotting organ.

When she leaves, he smells her perfume for a long time and tastes his own blood as he bites his lips too hard, cursing himself once again for being too cowardly to tell her how he truly feels.

He is so afraid.

Afraid that she will learn to hate him, learn to despise all his vices instead of finding them inconvenient. 

He knows he’s fucked up.

He knows he’s not good enough for a girl like Blair.

He would do anything for her.

She can’t know how weak she makes him feel, because they are too alike.   
She would exploit it, use it to her advantage.   
And she wouldn’t mean it in a bad way.   
It was just in her nature to play games, to twist and talk her way in and out of trouble. 

Chuck couldn’t let himself become one of her projects, because he knew that if he submitted to her, if he told her that he loved her, she would always be above him, be in control, and he hated losing control.

His entire life was controlled and monitored and assessed by his father. He didn’t know what he would do if Blair started controlling him and criticising his every flaw just like his father did. 

This was why he didn’t tell her, he told himself, as he watched her eyes begin to glaze with tears she fought against letting fall.

He was protecting her from himself, he said to himself, as he struggled not to wipe away the solitary tear that escaped her beautiful eyes.

But as he watched her turn and run away from him, hair fanning behind her, and he clenched his hands into fists and licked the familiar taste of blood off his bitten lips, he wondered.   
Who was he really protecting?

He was so afraid of showing weakness. Blair was too good for him. He could never satisfy her.

He uncurled his hands and looked distantly at the bloody half moon cuts on his palm.

He deserved this.

He’d made Blair Waldorf cry because of how weak, how cowardly he was.

He was disgusted with himself.


	3. nate archibald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nate and chuck are polar opposites. how strange that they should be best friends.

Chuck Bass was so tired.

He was tired of the pretence of being a perfect son, the perfect heir to his fathers company and the perfect student.

He felt that it was completely understandable that he was not the perfect friend. Not by a long shot.

Nate Archibald was one of those rare people.   
The people with everything money could buy that would rather have little.   
The people from the swankiest suites in the Upper East Side that would rather be living in a loft in Brooklyn.   
That special kind of person that few people ever met and fewer still believed existed.

Chuck was honestly shocked that his best friend was one of those people.   
His only friend was a person who hated his own wealth. 

Chuck loved his money.   
He wasn't ashamed to admit that either. He savoured being rich like he savoured the taste of expensive caviar on his tongue every morning.

But Nate did everything he could to act like he wasn't someone who could mention their name and doors would automatically open for them.   
He tried to be the opposite.

This confused Chuck to no end, but he wasn't really in a position to disagree and start arguments about Nate's choices in life.   
Nate was really all Chuck had.

Besides, Nate was usually there to get a drink with him if the situation required it, and he did offer a certain amount of support. 

He was a good friend to him, so it was really a shame that the same couldn't be said about Chuck. 

Chuck always bailed on plans for brunch because he had a raging hangover from the party the night before.

He cancelled on their plans for dinner because he was too busy swallowing ecstasy pills in a club with some pretty little thing on his lap.

And he was never available when Nate really needed him.

When Nate decided that he didn't actually want to go to Yale, like his grandfather had planned, Chuck wasn't there to support him and his, frankly, difficult decision to break away from family tradition. 

He was in a club drinking himself into a stupor because he'd argued with his father again. 

When Nate discovered that his father was on drugs, and squandering the family fortune to get them, Chuck wasn't there to comfort him.

He was in his hotel room, high on marijuana and sex, surrounded by beautiful people all committed to his pleasure.

When Nate's father got arrested, and Nate had to be the strong one for his mother even though he was hurting just as much in silence, Chuck only arrived on the scene hours after the last tear had been cried. 

With Chuck it was always too little, too late.

But Nate stayed with Chuck because he knew that he didn't have anyone else.   
Chuck knew that if anyone on the Upper East Side was a genuinely good person, it would be Nate Archibald.

And that fact was a complete contrast to Chuck's personality.

Chuck was the poster child for teenage rebellion, always high and drunk on the finest champagne money could buy.

Nate was a poor rich boy with a heart of  gold, who preferred to spend his time in indie cafes in Brooklyn rather than an exclusive club. 

It was strange that these two people, from a similar upbringing and privilege  and wealth, had managed to turn out so differently. 

One loved their situation.  
The other, not so much.  
And yet, they were loyal to each other.   
They were best friends.   
No one knew why, or how.   
But they were.


End file.
